


Calling his Name

by FailWriter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Ginny is still attached to Tom, Harry suffers, This fic is very unhappy, Unhappy Ending, Unhappy marriage, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 19:23:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FailWriter/pseuds/FailWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And she went on. And she didn’t let the image of Tom (or Voldemort, whatever) get in the way of her perfect fake life. Not even if that costed her sanity. But you were the one who suffered most with her choice of living with lies, right, Harry?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calling his Name

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so... I guess this work isn't my best one.Ginny is ooc to the bone here, and Harry more or less. But I did like the way my writing ended up so. Also, it's translated from portuguese, so some parts might sound awkward. My bad

Her trembling and clumsy fingers put the ring around mine in aromantic little fashion.

\- You may kiss the bride. - Then it was official, and Ginny was Mrs. Potter. Ginevra Weasley Potter. My wife.

And I kissed her. She reciprocated. But she stood so cold. Not her skin. Not her temperature. In her way of touching the lips like in a play, doing just what the script told her to do. She was not a madly in love bride. I was not a beloved husband.

For Merlin’s beard! I’m Harry Potter, the man (then a boy) who saved the wizarding world from imminent destruction! The bastard who spent a lifetime with the fate of being forced to fight one of the most powerful wizards of all time! I deserve a little consideration, don’t I!? She loved me when I was 12, hadn’t her!? What changed!?

But I ignored the rage. I ignored the urge to scream. I ignored how she seemed suffocated and resigned saying the yes. I ignored the fact of being married to someone who did not love me.

I loved her, and while we lived that nightmare masquerading as a fairy tale, I would not complain.

(but deep down, you know who she thought she was marrying  
knew who she loved  
knew why she did not love you  
and this name was an anagram whose hatred for you was mutual)

\- You arrive early, darling.

Oh, damn … That forced “darling” again. "Call me Harry, Ginny! Harry! I’m not him, I know I’m not your darling! This only hurts more! Please call me Harry!” I wanted so much to scream that.

\- Yes, I came to stay longer with you, love. - She lied, I lied back.

I kissed her belly, that kept our firstborn. I could only pity them. How is it to be the result of a marriage without love?

Happiness stained with oil. The melancholic smiles. The theater of a fairy tale in which the actors are only two and both are like broken porcelain dolls. For two years this house had been made witness to my and Ginny’s unhappiness. That unhappiness that everyone knew as pure bliss.

"You take good care of my little sister, Harry! You better make her happy!” Ron had kidded in our wedding ceremony. Sorry, Ron. I could not even keep that promise. Happy was something that was far away from Ginny.

But I’m so blind that I don’t want to let her go. I’m too selfish. I have to be some sort of masochist …

(but she wanted to be next to another person  
wanted to be next to someone dead  
next to someone who does not care about her, and never cared  
and she knew that, but wanted to be by his side)

\- Happy Birthday, James!

And the palms, and the happiness. 12 years of false happiness. 10 years having a son. And James really seemed to not realize what was happening in my heart and Ginny’s. That whirlwind.

The insistent thunder in my heart shouting in tearful despair that Ginny continued by my side. But also the resigned earthquakes that rumbled Ginny did not love me, and she’d someday get tired of lying.

The hurricane in the Ginny’s tainted heart that desperately screamed for her to keep on living without him. Cruel and weeping storms in that heart once pure which called and screamed for someone who must not be named.

Nobody noticed. Nobody felt sorry. Nobody listened. Nobody whispered about.

Only us.

\- Make a wish, James! - Ron patted friendly his nephew’s shoulder. And the light afforded by the candle went out, by the sound of a strong puff.

And that was the moment for Ginny to silently cry. Because (destiny hating us) our son’s birthday fell right on the day that I “rescued” Ginny from the chamber.

(she would rather not be saved  
she would rather not be there now  
she did not love you for who you were  
and yes for you being Tom’s last living apart)

\- To … Voldemort is gone. There is nothing in this world that we need to truly fear.

She always called Voldemort by Tom. It was so frustrating! She was my wife! Should love me! She shouldn’t be affected by the monster who almost killed her! 

\- Oh, Ginny…! Look at you again confusing “Voldemort” with “Tom”! Bing trapped in the chamber really made a number on you, didn’t it!?

 

They spoke of it as though as if it was nothing.

\- A trauma or a crush…? - I mumbled, inaudible.

Everyone turned to me.

\- Hm? What was that, Harry?

\- Oh, nothing… I just… I was cursing Voldemort. The damn bastard got straight to everybody’s mind.

All agreed, with some comments like how Ginny was fragile, forgetting she was there. Great. Nobody understood what I had said.

Except Ginny

(she felt like crying to the mention of his name.  
and you knew that  
because after this kind of conversation, she always asked permission and went to the bathroom  
cry his name)

And it was done. I had just done 50 years. I still remembered Hogwarts, and battles and death caused by the man that the woman sleeping next to me loved.

A day after the celebrations, my wife had gone mad. Ginevra Weasley Potter. My wife. Mother of three children. Crazy. Insane.

I do not know exactly when it started. It wasn’t sudden, that’s for sure. I had seen her paranoia and noticed that she had been hearing voices. But for some reason I do not understand, the trigger was my 50th birthday.

When I went to get changed, after the party, she was on the ground, writhing. Hoarsely muttering incoherent nothings about something unknown to me and that I prefer to stay like that.

Because, in that white room, in that huge building. Among many other mad, she was the most perfect goddess. Ah, yes… She had always been always beautiful. That flaming hair, that flawless and loving stare… I still loved her in a sick way, and it hurt.

 

(and you were a coward  
because you didn’t want to recognize the names  
because you didn’t want to listen  
because you knew she’d be calling the name of Tom Marvolo Riddle)

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to state that I do not, in any sort of way, believe that what Voldemort did to Ginny was okay.


End file.
